


take me back to when (we could change this whole world with a piano)

by OsleyaKomWonkru



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (meaning sex on a piano), Alcohol, Episode: s05e11 The Dark Year, Explicit Consent, F/F, Niylah's Rec Room, Oral Sex, Piano Sex, Post-Episode: s05e11 The Dark Year, Promises, Slightly Dominant Niylah, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OsleyaKomWonkru/pseuds/OsleyaKomWonkru
Summary: As the Dark Year begins, visitors to Niylah's speakeasy are at an all-time low, despite the knife's edge of despair and survival that they're hovering on. Perhaps people are finding solace in other ways, perhaps they fear their visits would land them on their friends' dinner plates, who can be sure...... but then Blodreina herself appears at the door, with her vulnerable heart laid bare, and Niylah can't help but take it, giving solace to the woman who holds all of their lives in her hand, who needs a chance to lay down her burdens for the briefest moments of surrender to be able to shoulder them anew.Niylah can give her those moments.
Relationships: Octavia Blake/Niylah
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	take me back to when (we could change this whole world with a piano)

**Author's Note:**

> So when Niylah said "there were too many rules when we lived here, I found my way around most of them" in 7x14, I know I wasn't the only one who thought "and that way was by sleeping with the queen" ;) Thus this prompt was born and thus it was prompted via the [The 100 Fic for Black Lives Matter Initiative](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co), to see how that relationship between Niylah and Octavia came to fruition. 
> 
> The poem that Niylah quotes is “Anchorage” by Indigenous (Muscogee) poet and US Poet Laureate Joy Harjo, which I’ve often seen used in fandom but not properly credited, so I’m making sure to include that credit here, and I encourage everyone else who uses this line in a fandom context to make sure it is properly credited too.

Niylah’s wiping down the tables and the piano, keeping her hands busy, as if just the very idea of stopping would let those dark thoughts creep into her mind again, the darkness permeating every inch of the bunker, every inch of their little world.

Customers in her little speakeasy had been at an all-time low this week, ever since… ever since _it_ started. The words that no one wanted to speak, but that their survival hinged on. No one wants to think about the unthinkable, surely, but no one would even _talk_ about the fact that they were eating the bodies of their dead.

But she supposes, they didn’t have to. Most of Wonkru may have not noticed it, or perhaps not noticed it yet, but eventually they would. They were free to not talk about their circumstances because they weren’t their burdens to bear. Not anymore. They could go about their days and nights and not think about the burden of their survival.

That burden belonged to one woman, whose smile Niylah hadn’t seen in years, but she still remembers it with fondness. The woman the people in the bunker were now calling _Blodreina_ instead of _Osleya_ or _Skairipa_ or whatever else.

Niylah wants to call her a friend.

As if summoned, Octavia appears at the doors to the rec room, flanked by her guards, and the last of Niylah’s patrons scurry off with a fearful look, bowing and pleading in Octavia’s direction as if that would stop them from being arrested and thrown in the pits.

The bunker has rules, after all. Chief among them no misuse of resources.

But Octavia doesn’t pay them any mind, and her guards usher the people from the room, then departing too, closing the door behind themselves, leaving Octavia and Niylah in the cavernous space alone.

Is Octavia here to arrest her? Does she need more people for a fight, more people to make sure that they’d have a meal tomorrow?

Niylah puts down her cleaning cloth and straightens her spine. “What are you looking for here, Octavia?”

Octavia scoffs lightly as she walks up the steps. “You know you’re one of the only people to call me that. I can almost forget I even have a name.”

“Is this a social call?” Niylah asks carefully.

“You’re on the clock. I’m not.”

“I’m sorry?”

Octavia collapses into a big armchair. “What does someone have to do to get a drink around here?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

Octavia gives her a look. “Please. You think I don’t know what you’re running down here?”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do. I know everything that happens in this bunker. I know you have a still behind that bookshelf. I know that Jackson slips you some things from medbay, and I know that Miller is the courier who brings you what you need from the farm. I know Cooper’s on the payroll to turn a blind eye to what Penn appropriates to give to Miller to bring you. I know that Gaia comes here on Tuesdays, and that she doesn’t know that her mother arrives an hour or two after she leaves. I know that Abby used to come here regularly, but you cut her off about a month ago, not long after Cooper first told us about growing problems with the protein plants.” She scoffs. “I guess Abby already knew then what we’d have to do. I also know Kane has only ever come here once, and that was to ask you to cut Abby off. So I ask again, what does someone have to do to get a drink around here?”

Niylah just stands there, dumbfounded, not sure what this means. Octavia has just listed off the many ways that most of the people they’re close to are breaking the law, and she’s still sitting there, demanding a drink.

People had seen Blodreina come in here, both her customers and anyone she’d passed in the halls on her way here. How could this end? It had to end with her, Niylah, in the pit… right?

“Fine, I’ll get it myself.” Octavia stands from the chair and walks over to the vent in the wall, pulling off the grate and crawling inside as if she’s been doing it her whole life (which she has, Niylah reminds herself, just not _this_ particular one).

She crawls back out, two bottles in hand, and she tosses one to Niylah, who only barely catches it, still feeling like she’d incriminate herself by doing so, even if standing here, in _this_ room, with _these_ things, with all the information that Octavia had just listed off wasn’t enough. Somehow that one bottle would do her in.

Octavia considers the amount of space separating her from the chair she’d been sitting in before, and decides it is too much effort, slipping to the ground to sit up against the wall just next to the grate, pulling the cork out with her teeth and spitting it halfway across the room before taking a long swig off the bottle, grimacing as she pulls it back from her lips.

“Disgusting. I love it.” She eyes Niylah again. “But the service in this establishment seems to be lacking.”

“What are you looking for, Octavia?”

She closes her eyes and rests her head back against the wall. “For you to keep using my name. Otherwise I might forget who I am in all of this madness.” She opens her eyes again and meets Niylah’s. “And for the barkeep to do like they did in old movies, where they give me a drink and ask about my day.”

“The barkeeps in the old stories didn’t have the threat of a death sentence hovering over their heads.”

Octavia laughs. _“That’s_ what you’re worried about?”

“Should I not be?”

Octavia gets to her feet, taking another swig as she stumbles her way across the floor. But Niylah knows that the alcohol shouldn’t be affecting her _that_ quickly, even if Octavia is a small girl and they’re all hovering on the edge of starvation. There’s something else at play.

“Don’t think I don’t remember the way you used to look at me.” Octavia says, balancing against the piano, Niylah just a few paces away. “I wish you’d look at me like that again.” She worries her lips together. “I wish anyone looked at me like that, instead of the fear I see in their eyes these days.” She meets Niylah’s eyes again. “Seeing that look of fear in your eyes too would just kill me.”

Octavia’s face crumples, and Niylah lunges forward to rescue the bottle in her hand before it tumbles to the ground, and she sets both bottles aside as she takes Octavia by her arms and steers her back into the chair she was sitting in before.

Tears continue to stream down Octavia’s face, and Niylah’s not entirely certain what to do. She perches awkwardly on the arm of the chair, hand on Octavia’s shoulder.

All she could do was what Octavia asked, right?

“So how was your day?”

“I had to watch three people die in the most bloody way imaginable.” She says, voice hollow. “There were only two fights scheduled, but in one - even the winner died of her wounds. And part of me has to be _happy_ about that because that means just a little more sustenance for my people. A little more protein in everyone’s diet. One tiny step back from starvation.”

_“Omon gon oson.”_ Niylah murmurs.

“I wish that didn’t have to be the case. I wish that none of this was real. I -” Octavia grabs Niylah’s hands in her own, holding them tightly, her eyes wide and intense as they try to penetrate to the very depths of Niylah’s soul. “You understand that right? You know I don’t like this? You know I don’t want any of this? Please tell me you know this is not who I want to be.” She begs. “Please.”

Niylah chooses her words carefully. “I know that as _Blodreina_ -” Octavia closes her eyes and flinches at the title, but Niylah continues. “- you have to appear unshakable and unbending. Fully committed and unquestioning of the cause. You’ve done well. You even had me convinced. But if you tell me that this is not truly how you feel, then I will believe that instead.”

“Will you? Will you really?” Octavia pleads. “Will you truly believe that or is it just something you’ll say to pay lip service to me?” Her lip trembles. “I only want the truth from you, Niylah, I - maybe it was a mistake to come here.”

Octavia drops Niylah’s hands and bolts out of the chair, but Niylah grabs her by the wrist before she can get too far.

“Wait, Octavia, you - you can rely on the truth from me.” Niylah says. “If that’s what you want. If that’s what you truly want, it’s yours. But you understand my hesitation.”

Octavia lets out a long sigh, running her free hand through her hair, yanking it back from her face. “I do, and I wish I didn’t have to. I wish things could be the way they were before. When they were so _easy._ Just two girls at the end of the world, saving each other’s lives. Why did it ever have to become more complicated than that?”

“Because our people would not trust in a red-blooded warrior, and so she needed to become a fearsome warrior queen to prevent chaos. A queen who must stand alone to invoke that fear in their hearts so they fear her more than they hate each other.”

Octavia squeezes her eyes shut again, but the tears keep flowing down her face.

“This story written in blood is a sacrifice she bears to ensure the survival of her people.” Niylah continues, and is reminded of a line from a poem she’d read in one of the books on the shelves in this very room. “Because who would believe the fantastic and terrible story of all of our survival, those who were never meant to survive?”

“Is it worth it?” Octavia whispers.

“This is the survival of the human race.” Niylah says, stepping closer, releasing her grip on Octavia’s wrist to instead take that hand in both of hers. “It has to be.”

“I don’t want to be alone. Being alone, it - all of this darkness will consume me. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be nothing but the darkness. I want to feel, I want to feel joy and happiness and not - not just pain. Or does our survival demand the sacrifice of any happiness I could have too?”

“You write your own story. You have that power.”

Octavia scoffs. “That’s not a power I have. I wish I did. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any control over how my story was written. If I ever had any control at all.”

“If you don’t believe you have control, then why did you really come here tonight, Octavia? Escorted by your guards, seen by my patrons? You know that can only end one way. It can only end with me in the pit, and you’ve said you don’t want that.”

“I don’t.”

“Then do you have control, or don’t you? Can you write your own story? Can you reclaim power of your own narrative, even if in this one little way?”

“You think that’s why I came? To risk your life in a bid to reclaim my own agency?”

“Is it something else?”

“I - I wanted _you._ I didn’t think about how it would look. I just - I just wanted the one person in this bunker who has only ever been my friend rather than my subject or my superior.”

“You’ve got Miller for that too.”

“Miller can’t offer me everything I may want.”

“And what is it you want, Octavia?”

“You. Me. _Us.”_ Octavia steps closer. “I want something to fight for that’s not mere survival.”

“You mean -”

“I mean.” Octavia pulls her hand free from Niylah’s, and rests both of hers on Niylah’s waist. “I mean I want what that look two years ago was offering. I wasn’t ready for it then. But if you still want it, I want it too.”

“How is it going to look to Wonkru? You can’t show weakness.”

“That’s up to you.” Octavia falls to her knees, hands still touching Niylah’s hips. “Whatever you think seems right, I’ll do it. If that’s to declare this space untouchable and exempt from whatever other rules there may be, you can have that. Whatever you need. You have my protection. I won’t let anyone touch you.”

“Never saw you for the possessive sort.” Niylah raises an eyebrow with a chuckle.

“I’m serious. I don’t want anything to happen to you. In this mad chaotic darkness… you’re a bright beacon of light and I don’t want anything to extinguish that.” Octavia sighs heavily and drops her hands to her lap. “Least of all me. I get it. I’ll go. But you’ll still have my protection.”

Octavia stands and turns away, heading for the door. Niylah’s only got a few seconds to stop her.

“I didn’t say no.” Niylah calls after her. “To us.”

Octavia stops, but doesn’t turn back, so Niylah walks up behind her, running her hands up and down Octavia’s arms, and hears her breath hitch in her throat.

Octavia turns her head to the side - not all the way to meet Niylah’s eyes, but enough. “You didn’t say yes either.”

“I’m still thinking on how we can play this for Wonkru.”

“Shouldn’t that be my problem to worry about?”

“Not if you truly want us to build a life together. If that’s what you want, then we make those decisions together.”

“All right, then what decisions are we making?”

“None right now.” Niylah murmurs, lips teasing the edge of Octavia’s ear, curling into a smile as a shiver goes down Octavia’s spine. “Right now you need to avail yourself of the relaxation that this place is meant to inspire.”

“Is this how you treat all your patrons?”

“No. Tonight’s services are only available for one.”

Niylah reaches around and presses one of her hands against Octavia’s stomach, pinning her back against her own body. She walks them backwards back into the middle of the room, releasing her hold on Octavia’s body while grabbing her hand, twirling her back with an unexpected flourish.

Octavia lands softly against the side of the piano, a bit confused, but then Niylah stalks up in front of her, dropping her hand to seize both sides of her face, and brings their lips together in a kiss.

And what a kiss it was. Octavia’s lips were soft but tentative until they mapped the contours of Niylah’s own, opening to her when she seems sure that it wasn’t a trick, that it was real. Niylah’s crowding her even more insistently against the piano and there’s nowhere else for her to go besides give herself over to the press of Niylah’s body against hers.

Niylah suspects it has been years since Octavia’s been able to give over control like this, and she sees now how eager she is to do so.

“Close your eyes.” Niylah murmurs as she pulls her lips away from Octavia’s wanting mouth, trailing kisses along her jaw and down the side of her neck. “Close your eyes and let me take control.”

“Please.”

Niylah pulls back enough to unbuckle Octavia’s heavy coat, pushing it off her shoulders, hearing it fall to the ground with a heavy thunk. Goosebumps appear on Octavia’s bare skin, the persistent chill of the bunker a clear reason as to why she’s always clad in that coat.

Showing some strength that must have surprised Octavia - if the flutter of her eyelids, where she thought to open them before remembering the command to keep them closed, was anything to go by - Niylah slides her hands around Octavia’s thighs and lifts her to sit on the piano itself. She looms over her for a moment, tracing patterns over Octavia’s bare arms with her fingers, until they find the hem of her shirt and tug it up.

Octavia arches her back, and Niylah takes the sign to keep moving the shirt up, pulling it up and over her head as Octavia raises her hands to be free of it, pressing her palms back down to the cool wood of the piano as soon as the deed is done.

Niylah looks at her like this, her dark hair a wild mess splayed out beneath her, a stark contrast to her pale skin. Her deep red lips also stand out, and Niylah’s surprised to note that there isn’t a trace of Blodreina’s signature intimidating makeup anywhere on Octavia’s face.

Niylah trails a single light fingertip down the centre of Octavia’s chest, starting from her lips, down her throat, between her breasts, over her bellybutton and stopping to rest on the button of her pants. Octavia’s breath catches as it waits there, looking for further instruction.

“I thought you were taking control.” Octavia whispers.

“I am. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice.”

“I choose you. That’s why I came. Anything you want from me, you can have. Anything you want from me, I want to give to you -”

Niylah pops the button open and Octavia stops talking, anticipation hovering in the air between them. The sound of her zipper coming down is loud in the empty cavernous space as Niylah tugs it as far as it will go.

“I’m going to need you to lift your hips.” Niylah breathes.

Octavia obeys, planting her feet against the side of the piano, the jolt of it causing a cacophonous ripple through the strings and keys. She giggles at the sound as Niylah peels her pants off her hips, down her legs until she finds her boots, unlacing those and throwing them across the room. Finally Octavia’s body is free of those pants.

But Octavia isn’t bare to her, not yet - still one triangle of fabric separates them, Niylah could have taken Octavia’s panties off along with her pants, but she wants to savour this moment, enjoy Octavia’s anticipation, feel her want. Her _need._

Goosebumps appear along the length of Octavia’s thighs, and Niylah knows she needs to do something to warm her up, so she steps up between Octavia’s legs, rubbing her hands over Octavia’s thighs, feeling the strong muscles ripple beneath her touch.

Octavia was a goddess. _Red Queen_ didn’t even begin to encompass her beauty, or the power she held over all of them - whether it was a power she wanted or not.

Slowly, Niylah works her way inward, fingertips skimming over Octavia’s inner thighs as she trembles beneath the light touch. As soon as Niylah’s fingertips brush the edge of her panties, Octavia holds her breath, waiting, anticipating, _hoping…_

Niylah’s fingers trail along the seam where fabric meets skin, along the edges of Octavia’s hips, through the bend of her thigh, to where the cotton stretches tight across her centre. 

She trails one fingertip down over the fabric, just brushing against Octavia’s core, and she breathes again, hips responding to just that soft touch. Niylah strokes over her with two fingers now, pressing harder, waiting to see her response, and being encouraged further.

“Please.” Octavia pants. “Please.”

“Please what?” Niylah asks, fingers still moving as she presses a kiss to Octavia’s belly. “I want to hear you say it. I want to hear it more than anything else in this world.”

“I want you. I want you to taste me while I fall apart. I want to taste you while I make you fall apart. I want to move heaven and earth to get us out of this hell so that you specifically can see the sun and the stars again.”

“Only if you’re by my side. I don’t want to see them without you.”

“Deal.”

Niylah hooks her fingers into the sides of Octavia’s panties, tugging them down her legs, not even watching where they end up. She kneels between Octavia’s legs, pushing them wider, her fingertips spreading her open so that she can lick over Octavia’s clit, small licks at first, then with the whole of her tongue. She hears a moan from up above, an encouraging sign that she’s doing something right. While her tongue keeps a steady rhythm going, she slips two fingers into her, stroking her in time with her tongue, dancing patterns over her core as her fingers feel her heat rippling around her.

The only sound in the room is that of Octavia’s heavy breathing echoing in the cavernous space, so the sound of raised voices outside does carry to Niylah’s ears, but as she stills Octavia’s hands come to rest on her head, keeping her there.

“Don’t stop.”

“There are people outside.”

“My guards will keep them out. We’re not to be disturbed under any circumstances.”

“Not even in an emergency?”

“There is no emergency greater than this right now.”

Niylah obeys, quieting and getting back to her task, Octavia’s breathy moans reaching a peak as she does, a tremor sweeping through her whole body as Niylah holds her thigh in one hand, other hand still stroking her through it, pulling out only when the quivering ceases. Niylah presses a kiss to Octavia’s inner thigh, and gets to her feet.

“Imagine the scandal,” Niylah says with a smirk. “If people barged in here to see _Blodreina_ splayed out naked on a piano, being serviced by a simple barmaid.”

Octavia sits up and kisses Niylah long and hard, licking the taste of herself from Niylah’s mouth before speaking. “Not nearly as scandalous as it would be if they saw _Blodreina_ on her knees worshiping said barmaid.”

“Is that a promise?”

“You’re damn right it is.”

Octavia slips off the piano, fingers already tangled in the front of Niylah’s jacket as she moves forward, searching out its buttons and shoving it off her shoulders and to the ground. Niylah lets her draw her shirts up over her head, adding them to the mess of clothes scattered across the floor.

Octavia sinks to her knees again, but this time looking up at Niylah with her big green eyes, unlacing Niylah’s boots by touch alone, slipping them off her feet, never dropping her gaze. She doesn’t have the patience that Niylah does, and strips off Niylah’s pants and undergarments all in one go, tossing them over her shoulder as she nuzzles her nose into Niylah’s core, breathing deep.

Niylah steps back a bit, just to steady herself against the piano, but not having accounted for their movement while undressing, her ass hits the keys, letting loose a cacophony of unharmonious notes. Niylah snorts as she tries to contain her laughter, and from the way Octavia’s forehead is pressed against her stomach and the way her shoulders shake, Niylah can tell that Octavia’s laughing too.

“Sorry about that.” Octavia says, straightening her back and looking up at Niylah. “First time having sex in a room with a piano.”

“You could get used to it.”

“Mmm. I intend to.” Octavia stops talking, hitching one of Niylah’s legs over her shoulder, and dives right in.

Niylah knows that Octavia’s new to having sex with a woman, though from her ministrations she wouldn’t know it. Octavia’s lips slide over her with what seems like a practiced ease, and she wonders just how many dreams the Red Queen had been having about this moment - and for how long.

Octavia moans into her, and is rewarded by the cacophonous clatter of more piano keys as Niylah looks for a place to rest her hands for support. Niylah’s quieter than Octavia is, once the piano notes subside, but her breathless gasps find the right ears as Octavia presses a single slim finger into her, hooking it to rub against _that_ spot which makes Niylah even weaker in the knees. 

Octavia notices this, moving her free hand to hold firmly onto Niylah’s hip, keeping her steady between her mouth and the piano. She speeds up the pace of her finger, tongue moving in quick licks directly over Niylah’s clit, and that does it, Niylah falls over the edge, her release flooding through her body like a tidal wave.

“Wow.” Octavia whispers, pressing her forehead against Niylah’s stomach, finger still deep within her body, feeling the last pulses of her pleasure. “I’ve never felt anything like that before.”

“I hope it isn’t the last time.” Niylah murmurs, finding her footing again. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

“Definitely not the last time.” Octavia promises, clutching onto her hips, face still buried against Niylah’s body. “Whatever I have to do to keep this, I’ll do it.”

* * *

Octavia and Niylah hatch a plan, though Octavia’s certain that Indra will disapprove. But that doesn’t concern her - that first day in the cafeteria, when Octavia stood alone against the tide of resisters, she knew that she now stood _alone,_ so the concerns of her advisers are no longer top of mind.

They wanted her to stand alone? Fine. She was doing it on her own terms.

Octavia expects that the small group of Wonkru who had been in the speakeasy that first night will talk, especially when Niylah _isn’t_ in the arena the next day, but to her surprise, they don’t. 

She isn’t sure if they are keeping their own secrets, or if by some odd stroke of luck they are keeping hers.

When they don’t talk, she adjusts the plan. Instead of sweeping into the speakeasy with guards in tow and sending others away, she comes alone, dressed down and almost unrecognizable to Wonkru eyes - unless they look closely enough.

She takes a seat like the others do, waiting for Niylah to serve her. Their fingers brush when she does, and as the night goes on, as the regular patrons eye this new arrival, they realize _who_ she is.

There are furious whispers among the other patrons as soon as they realize who is sitting among them, but this time no one flees. No one approaches her. Everyone in the speakeasy knows that Niylah commands this space, and _Blodreina_ isn’t challenging that.

It is the beginning of the public acknowledgment of Niylah’s space. The story spreads through the bunker like wildfire now, that _Blodreina_ had been spotted at the thought-to-be-illegal speakeasy. _Drinking_ there. Since no condemnation of the space had followed, that meant that the perceived illegality was in fact not.

Octavia and Niylah had worried that this could spell an increase in visitors, meaning an increase in resources needed, but their worries did not come to pass - those who came, continued to come, while those who had stayed away also continued to do so.

_Like a rock in the water,_ Octavia thinks, remembering the streams around Arkadia with fondness. Throw a rock in, the water ripples for awhile, but then it returns to old patterns, accepting the rock as a part of the whole.

Octavia and Niylah did remain circumspect about their relationship, however. Octavia didn’t want to put Niylah at risk, and they’d risked enough in making her appearances at the speakeasy public knowledge.

But when the rest of the customers left, the space was theirs, and they’d make love on the piano, over and over again. They also explored the details of the vents, and discovered that it was quite simple in fact to trace a path from the speakeasy to Octavia’s room several floors up - at which point Octavia would leave by the front door, while Niylah locked up and made her way to Octavia’s room through the vents, and they spent their nights wrapped up in each other in her bed instead.

But some days Octavia still missed the piano and the sound of its keys under Niylah’s hands as she brought her to completion.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Castle on the Hill” and “What Do I Know?” by Ed Sheeran.


End file.
